Ingression
by hisluvpet
Summary: Spike in Church? You read it here first.


Title: Ingression  
Author: his_luv_pet  
Series: BtVS  
Part: 1/1  
Rating: PG-13   
Codes: S/B  
Summary: Spike in Church? You read it here first. Response to the "I Love You" challenge.  
Spoilers: General Season 6  
Disclaimer: I've got a wine cellar for any lawyers that stop by.  
Feedback: Tell me -- primrose4@canby.com  
Website: http://www.geocities.com/his_luv_pet  
Posting: Let me know...then sure!  
  
  
  
Notes: In·gre·shon (n-grshn) n. A going in or entering. Right or permission to enter. A means or place of entering.  
  
  
Sunnydale's St. Gregory of Caesarea Catholic Church exists only in my imagination, but Gregory of Neo Caesarea was an historical figure and has been Canonized by the Roman Catholic Church. Any errors in the practices of the Church are unintentional. This is an odd one, but a story that I seemed compelled to tell. See **Note at the end of the story as to why this was Spike's choice of church.  
  
  
Thanks to the Sisters -- you gals are my Yoda.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
He was walking along the almost empty street; the darkness and rain would have hidden his identity from anyone but her. Not that he was trying to be furtive. He was just walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street from where she was exiting the post office, having dropped off a few bills that absolutely could not be put off any more.  
  
  
  
Wondering what he was up to, more curious than thinking he was up to no good, she automatically began to follow him, ignoring the pouring rain that drenched her. He walked neither slow nor fast, but with a purpose. Steadily, he progressed down the street, made a turn to the left, then down another street. The section of town he was walking through became old and run down. Bungalows from the '50's coexisted with discount smoke shops and mom and pop establishments. He finally stopped in front of an old stone building. The streetlights were dim and far apart and the rain made it difficult to see the sign in front, but the shape of the building was recognizable. A steeple was a steeple, and lack of attendance to one didn't make Buffy unable to recognize a church when she saw one. She stopped, completely non-plussed when Spike appeared to square his shoulders and begin walking up the pathway to the double doors that marked the entry. Vampire plus church did not add up, especially a non-abandoned one by the lights visible through stained glass windows and cars in the adjacent parking lot.  
  
  
  
She was so bemused that she stood there in the rain until the doors closed behind him. He hadn't paused in his approach to the building, opened the left door, and walked in as if he did it every day. Thinking that this was bizarre, even for Spike, she finally broke out of her daze and walked toward the church. St. Gregory of Caesarea Catholic Church, Mass Daily 7:00 a.m. & 7:00 p.m., the faded sign read. Walking slowly up to the old wooden doors, she paused at the top of the short flight of steps, looking at the door handle as if it was a snake waiting to strike. Finally, she tugged the door open and stepped into the entryway. It was warm and brightly lit, hurting her dark-accustomed eyes. The smell of incense, candles, and furniture polish rose up to her as she carefully gazed about her surroundings. To her left, a hallway lead to another set of doors. To her right, there appeared to be a closet. Straight ahead, a set of double doors that had been propped open led to the sanctuary. She could see a few people sitting in the pews. Candles around the altar and on side tables flickered. The air of the church was that of a shabby yet genteel aging lady that still retained the core of her beauty. Buffy scanned the room and saw Spike talking with a priest, the priest gestured, then they each entered a curtained doorway of a small booth. She'd seen enough movies to know that it was a confessional. Stunned, she put her hands on the back of the nearest pew and stared.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Spike gazed up at the old building. Finding it had been easy; the address he'd pulled up from Red's computer had come complete with a map and explicit directions. He'd written them down, but hadn't needed to refer to them. They were imprinted on his brain the first time that he had read them. The decision to do this had caused a clarity of mind and imbued him with an incredibly strong sense of purpose. To do this, he sighed mentally. It was a drastic step, but he could think of nothing else. All his usual methods of dealing with things were not working, and he knew that it was just a matter of time before things came to crashing down, destroying any chance of happiness for her and the bit. And that would make him unhappy; not that *he* deserved happiness, mind you, but he still wanted it anyway. Selfish, but honest, that's me. Oh, get on with it you git. He began walking; up and in he went, getting that crawling, uncomfortable feeling he always got around religious icons.   
  
  
  
It had been a while, but it looked pretty much the same as they all did. He guessed that it was supposed to be that way, like ordering a Big Mac from Seattle to Savannah - comforting. Glancing to the altar, he shivered slightly and raised his eyes to the representation of Christ on the Cross. He wanted to say something like 'bloody stupid dupe' to him, but couldn't form the words for some reason. He just looked, sighed, and made his way forward. His legs felt heavy as he approached closer to the altar. Yeah, yeah, I know - not welcome here, he silently acknowledged. But, I'm not here for just me, so cut me some slack, OK?  
  
  
  
Father Seamus Calhoun had just finished Mass and was tidying up his notes. He didn't look up immediately at Spike's approach. "Can I help...you..." his voice trailed off as he took in the view of a dripping, leather-clad youth before him.  
  
  
  
"Need a word, mate...uh, Father," Spike gestured to the confessional booths over by one wall.  
  
  
  
The priest looked at the young man before him, noting his pale skin and apparent lack of needing to breathe. Despite his almost Central Casting Man of Divinity looks and name, he'd seen a lot over the years in Sunnydale, and had come up against vampires more than once in ministering to his run-down parish. However, never had any one of them ever come into the church, let alone walk up and calmly request to have their confession heard.  
  
  
  
"I believe you're in the wrong place," he said firmly, looking down directly at the vampire from behind his podium, while his hands reached for the large crucifix he'd put there earlier that night.  
  
  
  
"So, you don't take sinners here, then?" Spike inquired, toning down his usual snarky tone a bit.  
  
  
  
"Sinners, yes. The Undead, no," Father Calhoun replied, gripping the crucifix until his hands ached. There were still some of the congregation filing out from the evening service. If he could keep the vampire talking, maybe they could get away safely. He didn't worry about himself, but some of his faithful evening Mass attendants were older, frail men and women who wouldn't stand a chance against this monster.  
  
  
  
"So, I'm an Undead Sinner," Spike rejoined seriously. He looked at the man, who's eyes had unconsciously strayed to the back of the sanctuary where he could hear the last of the congregation taking their leave. "I'm not hear to hurt them, or you," he spoke softly but insistent now. "I just really need to talk to you. It's important, otherwise you *know* I'd never be here."  
  
  
  
Father Calhoun looked directly into the vampire's eyes. They were blue and clear and had a look in them that he'd seen many times before - despair. At odds with his fear, his compassion won out, and he gestured to the old style confessional booth with one hand, pulling out the cross with the other. "After you," he said.  
  
  
  
"All right," Spike agreed, walking toward the booth. "You won't need the cross, but keep it anyway if it makes you feel better," he spoke without turning around  
  
  
  
"Thank you, I will," Father Calhoun replied, following the black clad figure with a bit of trepidation, but willing himself to be open to the voice of God, no matter how strange a messenger it might come from.  
  
  
  
***  
  
Buffy glanced around. There was no one else in the church. She quietly made her way up to the confessional and stood next to the doorway that Spike had gone through. She felt a qualm about eavesdropping that surprised her. This is Spike, she quieted her conscience. He needs to be watched. She didn't let herself think about why she needed to watch him, mostly because she then would have to think about how important it was for her to find out what he was doing in a church of all places, let alone in a confessional with a priest. She could hear them talking and she carefully moved closer to catch all that they were saying.  
  
  
  
***  
  
Spike sat down in the booth; it smelled of old wood and tears. He shifted on the hard seat. Built for penance, not comfort. The door between them slid open, and he could see the priest's outline through the grill. A flash of memory, older than his turning came upon him. The secret trips to Mass, escorting Mother each Wednesday night, all the while telling Father they were going to the Literary Society. The torn feeling that he was doing something that would displease his father, while at the same time rejoicing in that very fact. The knowledge that practice of this religion placed yet another barrier between him and the circle of friends that he aspired to be accepted into. All this flooded into his mind, obscuring his purpose. He shook his head, as if to clear the unwanted thoughts and drew deep into his memory for the words. He was about to say the phrases that he'd learned by rote as a child, but stopped before he could open his mouth. How could he say them? They would be a mockery; he was a mockery of where he was and what he was. It had been a mistake to come. He started to get up when the priest spoke.  
  
  
  
"Stay," Father Calhoun could sense the vampire's discomfort. "Tell me what brought you here."  
  
  
  
"I can't," Spike said miserably. "How can I ask you to bless me? It's a pathetic joke on you and on me," he added in a low angry voice.  
  
  
  
"You are, uh, were Catholic, then?" Father Calhoun asked.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, mostly," Spike replied, rubbing his eyes. "For all the good it did me."  
  
  
  
"Then begin and I will listen," the priest said simply.  
  
  
  
"You may not like what I want to tell you," Spike warned him, at the same time the aching in his voice alerted Father Calhoun of his raw need to share his troubles.  
  
  
  
"I may not," he agreed. "But, it's my job to listen, and you need to tell someone, or you would not be here."  
  
  
  
"What I need is help," Spike whispered hoarsely.   
  
  
  
"I can't promise anything," Father Calhoun was at a loss as to whether he could do anything for the creature who sat before him. "But, I will try."  
  
  
  
Damn, this was hard. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned," Spike's broken voice barely carried across the grill. "It's been one hundred twenty one years since my last confession." He couldn't make the cross, but the simple act of saying the *words* tugged hard at his emotions. Bloody stupid, a vampire in confession. God wouldn't want anything to do with the likes of him. "I have done...evil things..." he looked up and continued, "I can't do this. I've done uncountable evil things, Father. There is no forgiveness for them, I know. Don't know if I'd want it anyway, and I've already had to pay part of the price for them up front."  
  
  
  
"The loss of your human soul," the priest replied.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, though he was a pathetic creature," Spike's description of his former self lacked its usual acerbic tone. It sounded more like rueful envy. "But he would have been able to help her."  
  
  
  
"Who would he have been able to help?" asked Father Calhoun.  
  
  
  
"The woman I love." answered Spike simply.  
  
  
  
"Another vampire?" the priest sounded puzzled.  
  
  
  
"No," Spike said with a humorless laugh. "She's human. Well, mostly human. Still not too sure about that. She's the Slayer. The Vampire Slayer," he added to clarify.  
  
  
  
"You're in love with a woman who kills your kind?" his voice rose with disbelief.  
  
  
  
"Pretty idiotic, isn't it?" Spike agreed. "But, it's true. Spent the better part of two years finding out that I can't do anything about it and that I'd just better accept it. Now, I just want to help her," his voice trailed off.  
  
  
  
"Why?" asked Father Calhoun.  
  
  
  
"Why what?" he replied.  
  
  
  
"Why do you want to help her?" the priest repeated his question.  
  
  
  
"Because I love her," Spike answered. Then, he closed his eyes and took in a long breath, "And because I love her little sister, and I want them to be safe...and...happy." He spoke uncertainly, as he'd never quite voiced his reasons out loud before, never gave them over to anyone else to look at so closely. "They're in trouble now, and I can't help them, mostly because of what I am," he finished bitterly.   
  
  
  
"You don't like what you are," Father Calhoun said.  
  
  
  
"That's the problem," Spike shot back. "I *do* like what I am. The only time I've ever liked myself has been as a vampire; it's the only time I ever *mattered*. Only..."  
  
  
  
"Only, now because of what you are, you can't do the thing you desire most now, which is to help this woman and her sister?" the priest finished for him, trying hard to understand.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, that's it," Spike's voice held defeat. "I no longer want to be what made me who I am. But, that's not the entire reason I'm here." He leaned closer to the screen, speaking earnestly, "I need to know if I'm why she's been going though all of this. I'm evil," he said simply. "She's had lots of chances to kill me, but she never does. She's helped me, been with me a lot, wanted me to be with her. I don't know, but I'm thinking perhaps I'm why she's had so many bad things happen to her," his voice troubled.  
  
  
  
"*You* consider yourself evil and responsible for her troubles," Father Calhoun said, wrapping his mind around the idea.  
  
  
  
"Vampire, evil, same thing, don't you think?" Spike replied.  
  
  
  
"Why do you care about this woman and her sister? You should, uh, want to kill them, right?" the priest asked.  
  
  
  
"It's - complicated," Spike shook his head. He gave the priest a quick history of the chip and it effects, also of the latest development of Buffy being exempt from its controls.  
  
  
  
"So, this chip prevents you from hurting humans, but you can kill demons and vampires," Father Calhoun confirmed.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, otherwise, I might have staked myself, I'd have been so bored," the vampire quirked his mouth.  
  
  
  
The priest thought for a moment, "It doesn't make you love her, or want to help her, or now keep you from killing her."  
  
  
  
Spike looked puzzled for a moment, then said, "No, I don't suppose it does, but that's beside the point."  
  
  
  
"But, why? Why do you love her?" stressed the older man softly.  
  
  
  
"I just do, that's all," Spike replied defensively.  
  
  
  
"Is it such a bad thing?" Father Calhoun wondered aloud.  
  
  
  
"A bad thing?" Spike's voice was incredulous. "It's unnatural. I'm a vampire; I shouldn't give a damn about anything but killing, blood, and mayhem," his voice cracked, "but I do. I like listening to music, eating food, watching the telly, even helping the bloody Scoobies. I like it all." He put his hands on either side of the screen and leaned toward the priest, "I don't want it to go away. I don't want to go back to the way I was." His voice held desperation. "But, it's wrong. *I'm* wrong," he shook his head. "I told her it was her, but that wasn't it. It was me the whole time."  
  
  
  
The priest was at a loss. This creature was telling him that he loved a human, that he was evil, yet no urge to do evil, that he wanted to help, and was concerned that his very being was what was causing the troubles in his love's life. Divinity school had not covered this. "What's your name, son?" Father Calhoun asked.  
  
  
  
"William was my name," Spike replied. "A long time ago." He gave a short laugh, "That's why I came tonight, you know. It's my bloody name day, it is."  
  
  
  
"Who were you named after?" Father Calhoun was extremely curious.  
  
  
  
"William of Maleval," Spike answered in a odd voice. "A wild solider in his youth, went on a pilgrimage and got religion, twice a pathetic failure at leading a monastery, got one started, died, then it died out. Rather like the story of my life, really."  
  
  
  
  
"You remember a lot of the Church's teachings," the priest said. "Is that why you picked this church?"  
  
  
  
"St. Gregory of Caesarea," Spike intoned back. "Patron saint of Lost and Impossible causes, particularly ones involving demons. Poetic justice I thought."  
  
  
  
"Justice in relation to what?" asked Father Calhoun.  
  
  
  
"I'm not sure if I'm sorry for my sins" Spike explained. "I guess I am. I do know there's nothing to be done about them, no way to undo them. I did choose to do wrong; hell, I gloried in it. But, I can tell it was wrong, and I choose now to not do wrong things. Well," he laughed at himself. "Not too wrong of things, anyway."  
  
  
  
"Are you asking for penance?" Father Calhoun was fascinated. "I'm not sure I can absolve you..."  
  
  
  
"Not asking for that," Spike interrupted. "I want...I was hoping you could help me. To intervene for me. He'll not listen to the likes of me, and I need someone to put the deal on the table for me."  
  
  
  
"You wish me to intervene with God on your behalf," the priest was slightly dazed.   
  
  
  
"Yes," Spike replied. Silence fell as Father Calhoun contemplated his request.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Buffy was motionless, her thoughts frozen. She could only listen. She had learned more about Spike in the last few minutes that in all the years she had known him. His thoughts, his feelings, his *remorse*! He had never said any of these things to her. She could have sworn she *knew* him through and through, and felt as if yet another portion of her world had come crashing in on her. She swayed and held the edge of the confessional to steady herself. Willing her body to comply and be strong, she continued listening.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
"You want me to pray for you," Father Calhoun was floored.  
  
  
  
"Pray, talk, send a memo, whatever it is you do," Spike replied. "You have a direct line, right? I need to get a message out quickly, and seems to me someone like you would be the person to come to," secure in his logic.  
  
  
  
"It's not like email, William," the priest replied acerbically. "I can't expect an instant reply."  
  
  
  
"You don't believe in the power of prayer?" Spike asked seriously.  
  
  
  
"Of course I believe in the power of prayer," Father Calhoun assured him. "It's just that you seem to put rather a great deal of importance on my connection to God. I'm just one of many. My prayers aren't given any more weight than the least of God's creatures."  
  
  
  
"Yeah, but I'm not one of God's creatures, so that makes me quite a bit more *least* than you," the vampire said in a sad, empty voice.  
  
  
  
"You are convinced that you are *not* one of God's creatures, then?" the priest asked him.  
  
  
  
"Vampire, demon, hell, eternal un-life, allergy to crosses and holy water, and the like," Spike's voice became arch. "Kinda goes with the Satan end of the business, don't you think?"  
  
  
  
"All beings are God's creatures, William," Father Calhoun said firmly.  
  
  
  
"Not vampires," Spike shot back.  
  
  
  
"Even vampires," he insisted. "Even Satan."  
  
  
  
Spike was confused. "You're telling me that *I'm* one of God's bits? What about the whole holy water and crosses thing? Why do I feel like I'm gonna crawl out of my skin every time I'm in a church? Explain that to me."  
  
  
  
"Yes, the reaction to crosses and holy water," Father Calhoun was thoughtful. "You don't have a reaction to a Star of David do you?"  
  
  
  
"No."  
  
  
  
"Mezuza?"  
  
  
  
"No."  
  
  
  
"Dao symbol?"  
  
  
  
"No."  
  
  
  
"Trees, athames, fetishes, things like that?" the priest was insistent.  
  
  
  
"No," Spike was intrigued. "Seem to know an awful lot about other religions, Father."  
  
  
  
"Pays to know the competition," he replied wryly.  
  
  
  
"And you're going somewhere with this?" Spike countered.  
  
  
  
"You were Christian, Catholic before you were turned, right?" the priest asked.  
  
  
  
"Yes."  
  
  
  
"Your reaction to crosses and attendant symbols of Christianity appears to have a direct relation to your religion," Father Calhoun theorized.  
  
  
  
"But, I'm not bloody religious any more," Spike barked.  
  
  
  
"My point exactly. Your loss of your soul and your demon caused you to turn your back on your life, your being, your religion. It forced you to become someone else, didn't it? Your discomfort in a church may also be that you know what you are missing within yourself, don't you?" the priest explained gently.  
  
  
  
"You mean - God's sending a message and he's pissed," Spike shot back.  
  
  
  
"I mean, you feel what's wrong when you're next to the things that remind you of who you once were," he corrected gently. "You give them the power to hurt you. You gave your soul in exchange for the powers you received. You knew it was wrong, and did it anyway."  
  
  
  
"I know," the vampire replied hoarsely. "It never used to matter. Dammit, I was *happy* as a vampire. I had power, style, a reputation. Now...I don't know what I have."  
  
  
  
"You have the love of a woman and her sister," Father Calhoun replied.  
  
  
  
"That's just it, Father," Spike said bitterly. "I don't have her love. Her sister, yeah, maybe. She thinks I'm not so bad, but Buffy...I don't know any more what she thinks. I just know that she doesn't love me." The sadness ached in his voice.  
  
  
  
"Yet, you still want to help her," the priest stated in confirmation.   
  
  
  
"Yeah, I still want to help her," Spike said desolately. "She needs some help and there's no one else that can see it. They're all so busy with their lives, their problems. I don't have a life, so all I can do is watch hers." He drew in a deep breath, "She makes me wish I was alive again, but I know that's not going to happen. What I want to know is, what would I need to do to get God to listen to me? I have a deal for him," he finished self-mockingly.  
  
  
  
"Well, I'm not too sure God *does deals* the way you think, William," Father Calhoun smiled in spite of himself. "But, if you want to be heard, it's very simple. Pray."  
  
  
  
"You want me to pray," Spike was incredulous. "Just like that."  
  
  
  
"Just like that," the priest replied back, his smile increasing.  
  
  
  
"Oh," he said blankly. "What do I say?"  
  
  
  
"Say what's in your heart," Father Calhoun told him.   
  
  
  
"You're sure I have one?" Spike tilted his head.  
  
  
  
"From what I can observe about you, William, yes," the priest spoke sincerely. "In spite of all that you are and have done, it's brought you to love, to change, and it brought you here, on behalf of another. I believe that you may have one of the greatest hearts I have ever had the privilege of knowing. It's up to you. You are the one that has to make the choice - that's what free will is about."  
  
  
  
Spike couldn't speak for a moment. "Just say it, then?" his voice asking for reassurance.  
  
  
  
"Just say it, my son," Father Calhoun nodded.  
  
  
  
"Best be by the altar, you think?" Spike asked.  
  
  
  
"It's as good a place as any," the priest replied.  
  
  
  
"Right, then," Spike made to get up.  
  
  
  
"Wait," Father Calhoun stopped him. "We must finish the confession."  
  
  
  
"You can't be serious," Spike said puzzled. "You told me you can't absolve me. Don't know that I'd want you to, come to think of it," the petulance in his voice only partially masking the hurt and fear he felt.  
  
  
  
Father Calhoun was not fooled for a second. "Finish it, William," he directed sternly.  
  
  
  
Spike looked darkly through the grill, then thought for a moment, "I am sorry that I'm not sorry for all that I did, because there were a lot of bad things. I can't say that I have regret for what I did. I do know that I won't do them any more, chip or no bloody chip." He paused, then continued in a shaky voice, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I like people again, in a non-food way. I was so mad at them for the way that they treated me for so long..." his voice trailed off into memories. With a start, he added, "At least, I know I like Buffy and her sister, even her friends. But, don't ever tell anyone. I'd never live it down."  
  
  
  
"Sanctity of the confessional, William," Father Calhoun assured him seriously, while privately amused by his insistence in maintaining a persona of uncaring.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, well, I guess you could say I have a kind of remorse," Spike said. "Is that enough to get to the next part?"  
  
  
  
"Yes, it is," the priest said, thinking hard. This *was* tricky. He made his decision. "I'm not going to give you the usual Hail Mary's and such. I don't think it would make much difference. I'm not going to absolve you of all that you've done before now; you need to take this up with God directly, as He is the only one who is able to do that. You have already performed your Act of Contrition and an Act of Love," he said, letting Spike know that he was aware of the cost to him by coming there that night. "So I have something else I want you to do."  
  
  
  
"What's that?" Spike's voice was barely audible.  
  
  
  
"It's two things. First, I want you to forgive yourself," Father Calhoun said.   
  
  
  
"Forgive myself? For what?" the vampire was puzzled.   
  
  
  
"For changing," he answered the young man gently. "For making your choice of so long ago the wrong one. For wanting to live, wanting to love, wanting back into Grace."  
  
  
  
"That's what I want?" Spike was confused.  
  
  
  
"You know what you want," Father Calhoun knew, too. "You have to ask for it, though."  
  
  
  
"This wasn't supposed to be about me, though," Spike protested.  
  
  
  
"But, you see, that's just it," the priest smiled. "It wasn't about you. You were thinking of others, putting others before yourself. You have done this before, haven't you?"  
  
  
  
"Well, yeah," Spike reluctantly replied. "Once, anyway."  
  
  
  
"That's enough for a start," Father Calhoun noted. "Second, you need to perform an act of Act of Hope. Let God give you your hope back, because I see that you have lost yours for yourself."  
  
  
  
"A long time ago, Father," Spike replied hollowly. "Comes with the territory."  
  
  
  
"It doesn't need to stay with the territory," the priest insisted. "Can you do this?  
  
  
  
"I can try," Spike felt oddly free, and it was uncomfortable but intriguing.  
  
  
  
"That's all God wants," Father Calhoun felt the joy that came from battling the Dark and coming out at least even, if not ahead. "I can't absolve you, but go now, and find your peace with God."  
  
  
  
"Thank you," Spike was sincere.  
  
  
  
"Thank you," the priest replied. "It's not often I am challenged in my beliefs. It's good to know that God thinks so highly of me that he sent you to me for help."  
  
  
  
"You think God sending me to you is a *good* thing?" Spike couldn't help laughing, confessional or no.  
  
  
  
Father Calhoun grinned, "I love a good fight."  
  
  
  
"Me, too, Father," Spike agreed surprised and pleased.  
  
  
  
"Come again, William," the priest said, serious now. "You are always welcome."  
  
  
  
"I just may," Spike realized that he meant it.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Buffy straightened up from where she was leaning. He was coming out, and she was trapped. She scooted around to the side, barely concealed, but if he didn't look in her direction, she might be all right. Spike stepped out of the confessional and made his way to the altar. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and just looked up at the cross. Buffy's view from behind the corner of the confessional was not clear, so she quietly made her way to the front pew and sat down. She couldn't take her eyes off of him; he was trembling as he stood. Then, she saw him kneel in front of the bar, head low. She heard his words, was immobilized by them. She didn't see the priest come out of the other side of the confessional, nor note the long look that he gave her. Father Calhoun nodded to himself and slipped into his office. The two would have to work out their problems; he'd done all he could. He hummed his favorite hymn to himself as he tidied his small office.   
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Spike stood in front of the steps to the altar, noting the bar's simple design. Despite its old finish, it was solid looking, like it could take on the weight of a great many problems. Even his. Damn, this was hard. He knelt and put his arms on the bar and bowed his head.  
  
  
  
"Got me here, didn't you," Spike spoke to God softly but aloud. "I couldn't find any other way to help. Everything I tried wouldn't reach her. She needs help. I'm a stupid git, and I know you don't care about me as I gave up on you first. I'm sorry. Probably doesn't mean anything now, but I am."   
  
  
  
His voice grew a little stronger, " I just hope you care about her enough to listen to me. I love her. I want what's best for her. She can't go on this way. She needs to know that her life is worth living. She needs to accept love, if not from me, from her sister, her friends. The Father wants me to make an Act of Hope. I don't have any hope, neither does she. I know she hasn't done anything bad; she wasn't the one that got herself pulled out of Heaven. Don't punish her for that. Her friends did it because they love her, because they need her. She needs to believe in herself again, to know that she's not wrong, that she's strong and beautiful, and just because I love her, she isn't bad. I know I'm wrong for her."  
  
  
  
"I don't want to leave her," he was crying openly now. "But, if that's what it takes, I will. If she could learn to love herself again, she could handle all the stuff that life's bringing her. I just want her to be happy with herself and her life. Tell me, what should I do? Please..." he couldn't go on. There were no more words left and he rested his head on the bar, spent.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
A hand touched his shoulder. He knew that hand, but couldn't look at the person it belonged to. He had felt her presence, but thought he was just reacting to the circumstances, wishing she were there.  
  
  
  
"Spike."  
  
  
  
"Go away, Buffy," Spike pleaded.  
  
  
  
"I heard you," she said, tugging him up.  
  
  
  
"What did you hear?" he wiped his face with the back of one hand.  
  
  
  
"Everything," Buffy's face held a wondrous expression.  
  
  
  
"Pretty pathetic, eh?" Spike sniffed and laughed a little at himself. He gestured with one shoulder, "Talking to God."  
  
  
  
"Pretty amazing," Buffy replied. "You were praying...for *me*. Why?"  
  
  
  
"Because I love you, and you need help," Spike replied in a whisper, ready for her wrath, but telling the truth.  
  
  
  
Buffy processed this for a moment. "Would you help me?" she asked softly, tears welling in her eyes. "Would you help me to tell you that I love you? That I love you for all that you are and all that you aren't? Would you...?"  
  
  
  
Spike looked at her intently, not trusting himself to speak for a moment his joy was so great, then gathered himself, "I'm trying, luv. That's *all* I've been doing."  
  
  
  
"You've been doing it right, apparently," Buffy tried to joke, but burst into tears and flung herself into his arms.  
  
  
  
Spike closed his arms around her tight and rejoiced. It wasn't a solution to all her problems, but it was a start. That was a miracle. He looked up at the cross, "Good show, mate."  
  
  
  
Fin  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Note: Gregory of Caesarea has had the usual number of miracles attributed to him in order to attain Sainthood from the Catholic Church. One of the miracles got me thinking about Spike, so this is why he went to St. Gregory's church in my story.  
  
  
  
When returning from the wilderness, Gregory had to seek shelter from a sudden and violent storm. The only structure nearby was a pagan temple. Gregory made the sign of the cross to purify the place, then spent the night there in prayer, waiting out the storm. The next morning, the pagan priest arrived to receive his morning oracles. The demons who had been masquerading as pagan gods advised him that they could not stay in the purified temple or near the holy man. The priest threatened to summon the anti-Christian authorities to arrest Gregory. The bishop wrote out a note reading "Gregory to Satan: Enter". With this "permission slip" in hand, the pagan priest was able to summon his demons again. The same pagan priest, realizing that his gods unquestioningly obeyed Gregory's single God, found the bishop and asked how it was done. Gregory taught the priest the truth of Christianity. Lacking faith, the priest asked for a sign of God's power. Gregory ordered a large rock to move from one place to another; it did. The priest immediately abandoned his old life, and eventually became a deacon under bishop Gregory. This ordering about of boulders led to Gregory's patronage against earthquakes.  
  
Home Luv 


End file.
